Toxinmask18: Wow! That was awesome! I think that would be completely in character for Molly and I do like that she tried to keep her kids away from it, please make a part two!

Daisy Rhine: Goodness you made Mrs. Weasley scary. Besides that, Go Mrs. Weasley!

Thanks, you guys for the reviews. I didn't respond, but I showed them. That counts for something. This next chapter has more characters, more settings, more conflicts, and more scary Mrs. Weasley. And, from the title, you already know there will be Snape. Enjoy!

WARNING: Swearing, Torture, etc.

Out of the fire and into the dining room. Molly's face was blank, but anyone who looked closely enough would see the fire behind her eyes. She quickly turned through the doorway into the next room. There was only one person inside, sitting near the wall with a book in his hand. He looked up, his lifeless black eyes taking her in before nodding once.

"Molly."

She nodded back. "Severus." She said. "Where are the others?"

In a single jerky movement, he made a small head gesture to the kitchen door.

Molly raised an eyebrow. "You're not with them?"

Snape gave a bitter smile. "It seems I've lost a significant amount of trust."

Molly scoffed quietly as the sound of the fireplace echoed through the room. "Hmm," She muttered as her children appeared behind her. "I wonder why."

Her children followed her as she moved quick-stepped to the next room. The door shut noiselessly behind them. Inside, standing around the long table, was Kingsley Shacklebolt, Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, and Nymphadora Tonks. Everyone looked up upon their entry, but they paused, all different kinds of shock crossing their faces. They were staring at the blood all over her dress, watching as her fingers twitched in the adrenaline aftershock.

Remus was the first to recover. "Molly, what's wrong?"

"George," Molly said. "He's-"

"We know, Molly." Moody interrupted. "Arthur told us a few days ago."

"No!" Molly snapped. "I know where he is!"

Everyone blinked, the silence back in all its uncomfortable glory. Again, Lupin spoke first. "How?"

Molly's face reflected something that almost looked like a twisted sort of pride. "I found a Death Eater trying to break into my house, maybe trying to grab another one of us." She explained simply. "He told me everything I needed to know."

Lupin narrowed his eyes at the blood on her dress. "Molly, what did you do?"

Her face was blank and emotionless. "I persuaded him."

Shaklebolt released a short sigh. "Moody, go get him."

Mad-Eye nodded, limping out of the room to retrieve the Death Eater from the Weasley home. "Why didn't you bring him here?" Kingsley asked.

Molly averted eye-contact. "It was a personal matter."

Luckily, they seemed to understand and didn't press further. "Mum," Ron spoke up. "Where is he?"

Now it was Molly's turn to sigh. This was the part that made it hardest. "Malfoy Manor."

Fred threw his arms up in exasperation. "Oh, great. Because it's not like that's Voldie's main headquarters."

"Shut up, Fred!" Ginny snapped, her eyes livid with anger. "Mum, what are we gonna do?"

"Rescue him, of course."

But Tonks shook her head. "If He sent a Death Eater to capture another one of you," She pursed her lips, as though she absolutely despised what she was saying. "Maybe George is..."

"No." Molly hissed the word in a quick snap. No, she wouldn't believe it. He wasn't dead. He wasn't dead. He wasn't-

"Molly, you need to think rationally," Lupin said, making the mistake of drawing closer to her, a sympathetic frown on his lips. "You need to listen to-"

Suddenly, Molly's arms shot out and her hands closed around the lapels of his jacket, yanking him forth until they were nose-to-nose. "No, you need to listen to me, Lupin." She growled. "My son is out there and he is still alive, and I am rescuing him even if I have to alone!"

"Yep," Fred muttered, "Mum's gone mad."

Kingsley slowly made his way around the table in a timespan where no one moved. He came to Molly's side, carefully putting a hand on her closed fist and gently prying it from Lupin's jacket. Reluctantly, she let go. "Listen, Molly. We can't just send in a group of men. Malfoy Manor is highly guarded."

Molly was scowling stubbornly, looking around the room for something, anything, that would contradict his argument. And then her eyes landed on the door. A smile spread across her face. "There is always one person who will be able to get in."

Remus' eyes widened. "Oh my..."

"You can't be serious," Tonks said.

"He's our only chance," Molly argued.

"He's untrustworthy," Lupin argued back.

"I trust him with this."

Remus opened his mouth to throw another claim back into the argument, but Fred interrupted before he could make a sound. "I'm with Mum." He said, surprising most of the adults, but the children in the room seemed to understand his standing fully. "I don't care if the slimy git killed Dumbledore. He's the only chance of getting my brother back."

Kingsley glanced momentarily at the door. "You really think Snape will agree?"

Molly's fist clenched against her side with an angry fierceness, her lip curled into a tense, scary smile. "He doesn't have a choice."

She turned on heel and threw the door open before anyone else could argue and stalked into the next room, hearing Lupin shout from behind. "Molly, we should discuss this!"

"Snape!"

Snape looked up from his book. "Molly."

Molly marched up with purpose, all pleasantries aside. This was truly a dangerous side, one not to argue with, though Snape would never back down from anyone... not even a vengeful mother. "I know where George is, and you're going to help us rescue him."

Snape raised an eyebrow, looking bored. "And why would I do that?" He asked simply before looking back at his book.

Molly bared her teeth, swinging out an arm. The book went flying across the room, skidding along the floor. Snape didn't seem fazed. Molly leaned over Snape, still lounged in that armchair like the snobby git he was. "You listen to me, you slimy, no-good, cowardly-"

"Don't," His face looked suddenly fierce as he rose, forcing Molly back away from him, "call me a coward."

Molly took a breath, calming herself. "Severus." She began as Snape composed himself again. "You don't have any children, so you don't understand what this means to me."

"You're right," Snape said plainly. "I don't." He didn't look like he cared, either.

Molly continued. "But you should well know that when a mother's child is missing, they are truly capable of anything."

He eyed the stains on her dress. "I see that." He murmured. "You caught a Death Eater, didn't you?"

She nodded.

Snape leaned forward, a subtle, but almost hungry-looking smile gracing his lips. "Did you make him suffer?"

Molly gestured to the fireplace visible through the dining room door. "You should wait and see for yourself." She said, then became serious again. "That being said, back to the matter at hand. George is at Malfoy Manor, and you are the only one who can get in there."

"And what makes you think I'd be able to get him out?"

"Blind faith, I suppose."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "And you trust me enough, after all I've done?"

Molly planted a hand on her hip. "Right now, I don't care what you've done. Snape, will you rescue my son or not?"

Snape thought for a moment, and Molly could see his analytical mind turning over the details and risks. "I suppose I could give him a Portkey." He said. "That is if he'll trust me enough to accept it."

Molly frowned for a second, thinking what they could use, then she had a thought. She reached up to her neck and unfastened something. She pulled out a necklace that had been hiding inside her dress. It was a crude wooden circle on a string with each of the Weasleys' initials carved on it. "Fred and George made it for me when they were five." She dropped it in his hand, closing his spidery fingers around it. "Don't let me down, Severus."

Snape took it and slipped it into a pocket in his robes. He turned to leave through the door, but he stumbled in his step, his shoulders hunched slightly. Molly saw his face contort as a sharp hiss slipped from between his teeth. He was clutching his left forearm

"He's summoning me." He whispered, a humorless smile mingling with the grimace. He shook his head. "Timing couldn't be more perfect." He threw a weak half-smile at Molly before straightening up as best he could with the burning pain on his arm. He drew his wand.

"Good luck," Molly said.

He nodded once before flicking his wand and Disapparating out of the room with a small 'pop'.

Snape Apparated into the drawing room of Malfoy Manor, coincidentally appearing right next to the fireplace, which would have been his second choice of travel. The room was empty of all living things except for the Dark Lord sitting on his throne like a king and Nagini slithering along the throne's back and armrests. She nuzzled her Master affectionately, to which the Dark Lord only chuckled fondly.

Snape's footsteps made no noise upon the carpeted area of the floor. He was confused. Why were there no other Death Eaters here? Was he the only one to be summoned? And if so, why? Had something come up that needed his immediate attention? Though questions raged through his head he tucked them away behind his mental barriers along with the rest of his thoughts as he came to kneel before the throne like a lowly dog.

"You summoned me, My Lord?"

Snape felt Voldemort's scarlet red eyes boring into him, but he didn't dare raise his head. "Yes, Severus," Voldemort replied softly. "I have a certain task that requires your immediate attention."

Snape's head dipped lower, his mind welling with self-loathing as he replied like the loyal little lap dog he was. "Whatever you ask, My Lord, it will be done."

Snape heard Voldemort shift slightly, the silence pressing on his ears louder than sound. "Rise, Severus," Voldemort commanded. "It does not suit you to kneel like a slave."

Suspicion tainted Snape's immediate thoughts. He was a slave. And he always bowed to the Dark Lord. What was he playing at? Why was the Dark Lord smiling at him like that? The first theory that popped to mind was that he had been discovered, found out as Dumbledore's spy, but he dared not act on his suspicions and instead rose to his feet as ordered.

"You are aware of our 'house guest', are you not?"

Snape nodded. "Yes, My Lord." He was speaking of the Weasley boy. The one he was there to rescue. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach as he suddenly realized why he was there.

"He has been rather stubborn to our attempts, so far. He refuses to give up any information concerning Harry Potter."

Perhaps he does not know anything. The question he so badly wanted to ask was right on the tip of his tongue. But he wouldn't ask it. Best not become the next victim of the Dark Lord's wrath.

"Most of my inner circle has been given a chance to speak to him," Voldemort continued. "I, myself, have not taken the liberty quite yet. Now, it is your turn." Snape willed himself not to flinch as the Dark Lord's eyes narrowed venomously. "Use any means necessary."

Snape nodded, bowing once more. "Yes, My Lord."

He turned and walked off toward the stairs to the dungeons, feeling as though each step took more effort than the last. He had no choice. He would be listening. If there were no screams, the Dark Lord would know something was suspicious. He had to do his part... and hope that he could stomach it for the greater good.

So many things felt uncertain as he opened the door to the stairs, but right now, no emotion could compare to the guilt of Severus Snape.

George's breathing echoed loudly in his own ears, but save for the rise and fall of his chest, he was still. What had it been? Two days? it felt like longer. He was hungry, he hadn't showered, but at least he'd been given water. A surplus, actually. Perhaps they wanted to keep his throat moist so he could speak to confess. Or perhaps it was so he could scream louder.

He was losing it. Slowly, but surely, he knew he would go crazy. They came down every day, more than once. George had always been a funny, lighthearted individual, but on the first day, all his mouth had gotten him was a slap and several long minutes under the Cruciatus Curse. Lestrange was a bitch - that was for sure. But a scary one at that.

His last "session" had been maybe a couple hours ago. He'd weakly dragged himself over to the water to take a sip. It soothed his dry throat, hydrating it. It made him feel better, but worse at the same time. How long would he be trapped here? How long until the Order came and rescued him? And the worst question: how long until He came for him. George had no idea where Harry was, but they never believed him. Every single person who came down, he was verbally defiant too. It would only be a matter of time before You-Know-Who took an interest...

George shuddered at the thought. He tried to focus on his family. The faces of his siblings, his mother, his father, his twin brother, to draw strength from their smiling faces. He could survive. He knew he could. But the aching would always return in dull pangs, bruises from his violent thrashings. Whoever said the Cruciatus didn't cause physical injuries? Has anyone ever been able to endure that much pain without banging their head against a wall?

He didn't think he could take another, to be honest. He had never underestimated the Death Eaters. He had mocked them. But never underestimated. And one thing he would never deny they were good at: causing pain. And he was the subject of their abilities, but he kept his hope alive, kept telling them "my family will come save me, and when they do, you'll be sorry."

How he wished he could still believe that.

A tingling was the first indication of a new arrival. In school, they had called it a "magic sense", the ability to sense the magical signatures of others. Next was the footsteps, defined and echoing. George pulled his legs up further, huddling silently against the wall. This was it. They had come back for him. There was no escape.

The door swung open.

Snape put on his usual emotionless mask when he entered the cell. Play the part, story of his life. Looking down, he swallowed. On the ground, the devious smart aleck Snape still remembered from the classroom was on the ground, curled into a ball and quivering.

He looked up at Snape, his brown eyes flashing in the dark. "Oh," The boy spat, his voice sounding a little scratchy but no more. "It's you. Come to torture me, grease ball?"

Snape had to admit, he admired the boy's bravado but knew it was all a front. There was no confidence, only bitter hatred. Oh, how he looked like his mother. The necklace in Snape's pocket suddenly felt ten times heavier.

He shut the door behind him, one torch magically flickering to life, casting the worst of the boy's injuries into light. There was barely a mark on him, though he was rather thin. Two days of malnutrition would do that to you. Snape stepped forward, making the boy tense up before he could control himself.

"You have some information the Dark Lord requires," Snape said, his tone carefully restrained. "He wishes to know where Harry Potter is, and you will tell him."

George sneered up at him, uncurling slightly. "I don't know where Potter is, you idiot. I've been telling your friends that the whole time." His tone was laced with venom. He continued, "And I don't bloody care what Voldemort wants-"

Before he could speak further, Snape had drawn his wand in a flash and flicked it, a non-verbal spell slashing a shallow cut in the Weasley boy's cheek. His hand clapped to it almost immediately. Snape's eyes were livid with practiced rage. "Never," He hissed dangerously, "speak the Dark Lord's name." And this time, the boy didn't respond.

For several long seconds, they stared at one another. Snape was aware of the time passing, aware that the Dark Lord would be getting suspicious of the lack of noise. So, Snape got right to the point, directing his wand at the boy who cringed back from its end. "Where is Potter?"

And, as Snape knew he would, the boy responded, "I don't know."

Snape sighed silently, then drew on all the hate he could for the Weasley boy, trying to force himself into that sadistic mindset, to enjoy causing pain, because only then would the Curse work. And finally, once his vision clouded with that unfamiliar haze, he did it.

"Crucio!"

Snape had never actually heard a Weasley scream before, and never had he expected to. It was a horrible sound, making him wince even through the haze. He forced his eyes open, forced himself to look. He was supposed to be enjoying the pain he caused the boy. Otherwise, the spell might cut out when he didn't want it to. But he did want it to. He didn't want to cause him any harm, well... maybe a few extra detentions, but nothing like this. The Curse filled his body with a euphoric sensation of power, but the boy's screams turned his stomach even so.

So, he forced himself to look. But the moment he opened his eyes, he wanted to look away again. The boy was on his stomach, much contrary to his prior position. His fingers scrabbled at the floor, desperately seeking purchase, already bleeding from the rough misuse. The boy's head was down, his red hair hiding his face, but his body was tense. His toes curled in on his bare feet. He almost seemed to wilt under the curse, like a bright orange flower. And the screams.

He released the curse, leaving the Weasley boy panting on the floor, weak and afraid. He looked up, the fear evident on his face. Yes, he was afraid. He'd been subjected to the curse too many times. It was making him weak. He had been told of the boy's sharp tongue, but it appeared that had gone with his strength. Tear streaks ran fresh down his face.

Hating himself, Snape asked, "Where is Potter?"

George shrank in on himself, trying to look smaller. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Snape scowled. "Speak up."

The boy flinched. "I don't know!" He gasped.

Snape scowled, raising his wand again. George's eyes widened, he shook his head violently, already on his knees. "No," He whimpered, his strong Gryffindor pride worn away by days of torture. "Please, don't," he pleaded. He looked so hopeless, not at all like the smart-mouthed Gryffindor Snape remembered teaching. How badly had the other Death Eaters hurt him? "I don't know where Harry is," He whispered. "I really don't. Just, please, stop..."

Snape frowned. He wanted to. He really did. But what would the Dark Lord say if he emerged after such a short session with no information? Snape resisted the urge to say sorry as he raised his wand again, aiming it at George who had begun sobbing silently, shudders violently wracking his body even before the Curse began.

The screams were worse the second time, even though Snape knew the Curse wasn't as strong as the first. He just couldn't muster up as much hate as he could before. The agonized keens echoed through the small space, filling Snape's ears with the mind-numbing sounds of the boy's torture. Oh, how much pain the boy must have been in. Snape had been under the Curse before, of course, but he had never had it used on him so frequently as the boy. Guilt filled the pit of Snape's stomach. Why did he have to live this way? To hurt people...? Then, suddenly, the boy stopped screaming, instead sobbing violently. Snape's brows knit in confusion. He hadn't meant to end the spell so soon. He tried again, the name of the spell making the boy flinch, but nothing more. Snape didn't understand... but he did. He couldn't use the spell unless he really wanted to... and he didn't.

Snape growled. He was weak. How was it he couldn't take the sight of this smart-mouthed boy's pain. George's head rose an inch from the floor, his brown eyes taking in Snape for a second as Snape stared back. Those eyes saw right through him...

Snape snarled, marching forth. He kicked the boy roughly in the stomach, forcing him to double over in pain. Snape's hands twitched as his mind seethed with rage. He was going to be killed. And it was this boy's fault. "Where is Potter?!" He demanded once again.

The Weasley boy was hacking out choked coughs, barely able to breathe. Snape suddenly kicked him again, higher up near the ribs. He swore he heard a snap. The boy shrieked, his body rolling over to face the wall, but Snape would have none of it. His foot met the boy's back, forcing him flat to the ground, putting new pressure on his already cracked ribs. He cried out but didn't struggle. Every movement would send pain shooting through his body.

Snape pressed down further, eliciting a groan as he did so. The room was so silent, punctuated only by the quiet whimpers that issued from the boy's mouth. Snape's lips drew back in a growl. "Where is Potter?"

The boy shook his head, wincing as the pressure increased slightly. "I-I... I don't k-know!" He gasped, his voice shaking. "Please, I don't... I don't..." Did the boy even realize he was begging? "I don't know where Harry is... I haven't s-seen him since l-last year... please..." His voice was a whisper. "Just stop... please... I'm sorry... please..."

Every word was like a punch to the gut. Snape felt frozen to the spot. Slowly, Snape lifted his foot, the boy on the ground immediately relaxing at the pressure released. He stared at what he'd done. This had gone far enough. He fumbled around in his pocket, finally pulling out the necklace before taking his own wand and pointing it at the wooden charm, muttering, "Portus."

He knelt down before George, taking the boy's chin in his hand and forcing him to look up. He held the necklace up for him to see, which made George's eyes widen, and his lips part slightly, as if he was about to ask "where", but Snape beat him to it.

"From your mother. It's a Portkey. In three hours it will bring you to Grimmauld Place. Can you hold out that long?"

George's eyes were filled with confusion, but he nodded, allowing Snape to slip the necklace over his head and tuck it into his shirt. As soon as Snape straightened up, the boy let his head fall, passing out into sweet oblivion in a matter of seconds. Snape straightened out the sleeves of his cloak before turning on heel and leaving with a sense of dread.

I so referenced Halfblood Prince with that "Don't call me a coward" line. To be honest, I think what peeves me most about torture fics is that people have their characters stay strong and silent under the Cruciatus. That doesn't happen. No matter who you are, if you had a thousand knives boring into your body, you'd scream.

"Not even a vengeful mother". I just realized Snape has a real soft spot for mothers protecting their children. Speaking of which, Molly's gonna kill Snape.

I hate writing George in this state because it doesn't seem like him, but let's be honest, anyone would become this way after a few days like that. Well, enjoy. This is officially going to be a three-shot. See you all next time!